


The Remarkable Master Baggins (of whom Thorin began to have a very high opinion indeed)

by HildyJ



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Bilbo's beautiful bottom, Cheeky Bilbo, Flirting, Humor, LITERALLY, M/M, Mixed-Up Middle Earth Geography, Mushrooms, Oblivious Thorin, Quest of Erebor, Sexual Frustration, Sharing A Pony
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2016-08-09
Packaged: 2018-08-07 17:07:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7722790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HildyJ/pseuds/HildyJ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"To be honest, Thorin did not take much notice of the company’s burglar, Master Baggins, in the beginning of their quest. He was a flash of red jacket when Thorin looked behind him from time to time to check on the rest of group, he was a muttered complaint about his uncomfortable saddle, and he was an extra mouth to feed when they camped down for the night. In short, he was like the axe you carried to cut down a tree: heavy and ungainly as you walked there but mighty handy when it came to the cutting. And Thorin had resigned himself to carrying this axe all the way to Erebor.</p>
<p>But one evening, somewhere on the road between Hobbiton and Rivendell, Thorin couldn’t help but notice Bilbo – and one part of him in particular."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Remarkable Master Baggins (of whom Thorin began to have a very high opinion indeed)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HiddenKitty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HiddenKitty/gifts).



> [Kitty](http://ahiddenkitty.tumblr.com/) and I share a healthy appreciation for the [Bilbooty](http://hildyj.tumblr.com/post/144257804508/sherlockspeare-yes-of-course-i-made-these-to) (Safe for work but get ready to swoon!) and she prompted me to write a fic where Thorin discovers the Bilbooty as well.

To be honest, Thorin did not take much notice of the company’s burglar, Master Baggins, in the beginning of their quest. He was a flash of red jacket when Thorin looked behind him from time to time to check on the rest of group, he was a muttered complaint about his uncomfortable saddle, and he was an extra mouth to feed when they camped down for the night. In short, he was like the axe you carried to cut down a tree: heavy and ungainly as you walked there but mighty handy when it came to the cutting. And Thorin had resigned himself to carrying this axe all the way to Erebor.

But one evening, somewhere on the road between Hobbiton and Rivendell, Thorin couldn’t help but notice Bilbo – and one part of him in particular.

Bombur had for several nights now complained about the mundane and never-changing contents of their cooking pot, mournfully scooping up boiled, mealy potatoes and strips of dried venison onto 15 plates, all the while muttering about the well-stocked larder they had left behind in Bag End.

That night, after Bilbo had finished unrolling the bedrolls, Thorin watched as the hobbit went to help Bombur unload the food bags from the pack pony.

The bag of potatoes made a dull thump as it hit the ground in front of Bilbo’s feet.

‘Same again?’ he asked, smiling politely at Bombur.

‘Same again.’ Bombur bent over and started to untie the bag.

Bilbo nodded. Without being asked, he started to look for fallen twigs on the round, making ready for whatever fire Bombur wanted to start. As he walked in circles, Thorin noticed how his feet slowed as he took in the sights around him.

He stopped, the twigs in his arms almost falling down, as he glanced around the forest.

‘Is this…Is this Woody End?’ he called out to no one in particular.

‘What?’ Dwalin looked up from where he was sitting by Thorin.

‘Woody End? The forest east of Bywater?’

‘We’re close to the river, Master Baggins,’ Thorin added, ‘I know nothing else of the local geography.’

Bilbo’s lips twitched at the corners. ‘I used to visit my cousins in Bywater when I was a fauntling. We’d spend whole days in this forest, pretending to be rangers and wizards.’ He turned to look outside of the clearing where they had put up camp. ‘I wonder…’

Thorin’s gaze rested for a moment on the hobbit and his strange behaviour before turning back to his talk with Dwalin.

‘Here.’ Bilbo hurried back to Bombur, pressing the twigs into his arms. ‘Get a fire started but don’t begin any cooking until I return. I think I might find something that will save our supper!’ He grinned and turned, his red jacket blowing behind him as he ventured further into the forest.

Dwalin shook his head. ‘Odd folk, these hobbits,’ he spoke quietly to Thorin.

‘We will get used to Master Baggins’ ways,’ Thorin said. ‘The wizard seems fond of him.’

Dwalin hummed. ‘So fond that he’s willin’ to send him from his cosy home into a dragon’s lair.’

‘You know that wizards never have less than seven schemes going on at the same time. There may be wisdom in Gandalf’s choice of burglar, but it is still hidden to rest of us.’ He stood up, still feeling the ache in his thighs from a day spent on a pony’s back. ‘I’ll be back.’

Thorin walked until he was out of sight from the clearing, finding a suitably wide tree to relieve himself against. As he idly watched the dirt in front of him grow dark and wet, he suddenly heard a muttering movement in the forest behind him. He quickly finished and laced himself back up again. With a hand on the hilt of his sword, he walked slowly through the forest, his eyes darting quickly, trying to catch sight of movement among the towering tree trunks. And then he saw it: the red jacket.

It seemed to have been half-stuffed into the bottom of a hollow tree, the soles of two large hobbit feet sticking out beneath it, toes pressing into the moss as Bilbo seemed to be eagerly shoving himself further and further into the hollow space.

Thorin came to a sudden stop, unable to tear his eyes from that jacket. Because the slit down the bottom of it had fallen open to either side, displaying, _framing_ almost, the most wonderful bottom Thorin had ever laid eyes on in his entire life. 

It started just below Bilbo’s belt, a wide expanse curving into two, separate firm globes, the soft, worn fabric of his trousers moulding itself close to the crease dipping down in between. As Bilbo shuffled closer into the hollow tree, the movement jolted his behind, leaving it quivering like the top of a still-warm pudding.

An itch started in the palms of Thorin’s hands. He had never viewed himself as a dwarf controlled by the pleasures of the flesh, most of his adult life being spent on leading and looking out for others, but this sight was something new to him. Never before had he felt such a strong urge to reach out and _touch_ ; just to know how that tempting bottom would feel under his grip. His fingers rubbed at the itch in his palms. Would it be soft, the jiggling flesh coming to rest in his hand? Or would it be firm and muscled, the bottom of a hobbit fond of long walks in the country?

‘There you are!’ Bilbo’s muffled voice was heard from inside the tree. ‘I knew I’d find you eventually.’ His knees started moving backwards, pushing against the ground as he eased himself back out again.

Thorin felt he should leave, should not be found staring the behind of one of his company, but that bottom kept coming closer and closer to him, the globes becoming even more firm and round until Bilbo finally ducked his head out from under the bark.

‘Oh, hello,’ he said with a puzzled smile as he spotted Thorin. ‘I didn’t know I had been gone that long.’ He sat back on his heels, laying out something on the ground in front of him.

Thorin blinked, not seeing anything but those heels digging into that soft bottom. ‘What?’ he finally managed.

‘Didn’t you come to bring me back to the camp? I can only imagine how hungry the others must be by now. But look,’ he picked a piece of dirt from something in his hand, ‘mushrooms!’

Thorin noticed the brown things in front of Bilbo. ‘Mushrooms?’

Bilbo stood up, cradling them all to his chest. ‘This forest is one of the best places in the Shire for mushrooms. When we were little we practically lived on them, dirt and all!’ Bilbo’s grin faltered as he saw Thorin’s blank face. ‘For our supper,’ he added slowly.

‘Yes.’ Thorin nodded, his mind working a bit quicker now that Bilbo’s front was facing him. ‘Good. Good idea.’

Bilbo frowned as he stepped closer to Thorin. ‘Are you feeling alright?’

Thorin nodded a bit too quickly. ‘Fine. Just…tired. It was a long ride today.’

Tilting his head to the side, Bilbo said, ‘I thought I was the only one still feeling the imprint of my saddle?’ He smirked at him, obviously inviting Thorin to share in his light grousing.

‘Imprint…?’ A sudden image flashed in front of Thorin’s eyes of that bottom, trouser-less with a pattern of red lines criss-crossing it, and then it became his hands reaching out, pressing into that mouldable flesh, soothing its ache with his firm grip. 

Bilbo’s eyes narrowed. ‘I think you’re more tired than you’re letting on. Come,’ he walked past Thorin with a soft smile, ‘let’s go back to the others. I can’t wait to see Bombur’s face when I present him with these.’

Without thinking, Thorin turned, following the red jacket back to camp. It covered Bilbo’s bottom at the moment but now that Thorin knew what it hid from the world, he couldn’t understand how he had never noticed it before, Because even under that well-tailored, heavy jacket, Thorin swore that he could see a tempting swell move slightly to and fro, the stitched flap in the back just gaping open in the middle of that movement.

Thorin resolved then and there never to walk behind Bilbo like this again or he would never get anything done in life.

They reached the camp and Bilbo was greeted like a conquering hero when he produced the mushrooms for all to see. Thorin sat down, his eyes following Bilbo as he helped Bombur prepare supper for the company. That pleased smile never left the hobbit’s face and it only grew bigger when Bombur patted his back in gratitude, exclaiming over the fine quality of the mushrooms. Even from where he was sitting, Thorin could see that it meant a lot to Bilbo, finally being able to add something to ease the course of their quest.

Thorin spoke little to the others that night before turning to his bedroll, his mind still preoccupied with what he had felt at seeing Bilbo earlier. Maybe it had only been the novelty of seeing a bottom so different from those of his own kind. Dwarves were a hardy folk, their bodies more like the stone they worked at, made to withstand wind and decay. To tumble into bed with a dwarf was hearty stuff, the two of you enjoying each other’s strengths, firm bodies straining against each other.

But Bilbo… The bed in the prince’s chamber in Erebor, Thorin falling back to lie among his pillows, his eyes widening as Bilbo sits on top of him, sinking that round, soft bottom down to rest in Thorin’s lap, on Thorin’s…

Thorin’s squeezed his thighs tight together and he turned over on his side, seeking to hide the evidence of his imagination. Biting his lip in frustration, he resolved to sleep, hoping that his dreams would be less unnerving than his fantasies.

The next day, it rained. All day. Their hoods were up, their heads were down, and they were silent, willing their ponies forward, the only sound being the squish of the hooves in the mud.

Thorin had made sure that he was leading the company, needing nothing but the sight of the forest road in front of him if he was to steer his pony in the right direction.

Suddenly, a loud whinny was heard from behind him and he turned his head just in time to see Bilbo slide off his pony, crouching down to look at the animal’s leg.

‘What happened?’ Balin called out beside him.

‘Her hoof slid in the mud, twisting her leg.’

‘How bad is it?’ 

Gandalf, who had been riding alongside Bilbo, had now dismounted as well. He bent down to inspect the leg. ‘She can walk,’ he proclaimed, ‘but it will do well if she was spared the burden of Bilbo’s weight on top of her own for now.’

‘Fine,’ Bilbo groaned. ‘Lovely. Nothing like a brisk walk in the mud and the rain, leading a lame pony and trying to keep up with the rest of you.’

‘Master Baggins,’ Thorin heard himself saying, ‘you can ride with me. My pony is sturdy enough for the both of us.’

Before Bilbo could answer, Gandalf raised his head, rain water trickling from the wide brim of his hat. ‘Nonsense, Thorin! Your pony may be strong but it is nothing compared to my horse. A hobbit of Bilbo’s size would be like the weight of a feather to him.’

‘I--,’ Bilbo began, looking up at the wizard’s tall horse.

‘I am the leader of this company,’ Thorin interrupted, ‘and I am responsible for all in it. Master Baggins will ride with me.’

‘Thorin, you’re being--,’ Gandalf started before being interrupted by Dori.

‘Could we keep moving?’ he said, ‘or we are liable to be washed away by this deluge!’

‘Aye!’ Glóin shouted, wringing out his beard while he waited for this pointless debate to be over.

‘I will ride with Thorin,’ Bilbo was quick to declare, already trudging to the front of the company.

Bilbo came to stand next to Thorin’s pony, looking like a drowned and disgruntled mouse, mud coming up over his ankles and threatening the edge of his trousers. He blinked water out of his eyes as he looked up at Thorin. ‘Could I sit in the front?’ he asked. ‘There is precious little to hold onto at the back of you, you see. And I would rather not fall off my second pony today.’

‘Fine,’ was the only thing Thorin was able to say, still struggling to get his mind under control. Why had he offered his own pony? He was sure that with a pointed glare he could have gotten Kíli or Fíli to share their animals with the hobbit. Or he could have openly commanded anyone else in the company to do the same, including Gandalf who had offered freely.

He reached down a hand to Bilbo, the muscles in his arm tensing as he pulled him up, settling him at the base of the pony’s neck, one leg on either side. Bilbo immediately leaned forward, grabbing hold of the mane to steady him.

And now Thorin knew why he had offered, why some sordid, little part of his mind, the same one which had kept him awake last night, had taken control of his mouth and his actions a few moments ago. Because there it was, right in front of him, filling those wet trousers to the brink, only a couple of hand’s breadths from Thorin’s lap: Bilbo’s round bottom.

Without warning, Thorin kicked the pony into moving, his arms coming round Bilbo to grab the reins. The pony settled into an easy trot, jolting Bilbo as it did.

‘Oh!’ His fingers twisted into the thick hairs of the mane, his knuckles whitening as he did. ‘Steady on!’ he called back over his shoulder to Thorin.

‘We already lost enough time, Master Baggins,’ Thorin answered, his gaze firmly fixed above Bilbo’s head, his neck stiffening for fear of dropping it back down. ‘We must press on.’

He could hear the hooves of the company’s ponies behind him and he kept going, holding his eyes aloft through sheer will power alone.

‘Yes.’ Bilbo’s voice was quieter now. ‘I’m sorry about that. No matter what I do I can’t help being a nuisance, it seems.’

Thorin looked down at that bent head in front of him. ‘You’re not a nuisance,’ he murmured, glancing to either side to see if any of the others were close.

Bilbo raised his head a bit, leaning close to the pony’s neck in an attempt to keep himself even and stable. ‘Thank you for offering me your pony,’ he said, ‘and rescuing me from having to balance on top of Gandalf’s great beast of a horse, waiting to fall with every tilting and tottering movement.’

‘It is nothing,’ Thorin said shortly. He didn’t want gratitude because it had not been a generosity of spirit which had spurred him to help Bilbo. It had been something much more base than that, he thought, his eyes straining to stay on the road ahead of him.

They rode in silence for a while. Thorin’s mind could focus its attention on nothing but the one thing he had resolved not to think about, while Bilbo squirmed in his uncomfortable seat, slipping a bit backwards every time before catching himself and hauling his body back towards the pony’s neck.

‘I’ve read,’ Bilbo finally said, obviously fed up with the silence, ‘that dwarves keep no animals of any kind, neither for work, food nor companionship.’ He glanced over his shoulder at Thorin. ‘And yet you seem proficient at riding?’

Thorin thought for a moment. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘we keep no animals because no animal would be satisfied with a life underground or in the middle of a mountain. The air is too close and the sunlight too sparse for them. We get our meats and our furs by trading our gems and metals with nearby towns.’

‘And the riding?’ Bilbo prompted.

‘After Erebor fell, my people became nomads, wandering from place to place, surviving as best we could without a home.’ Thorin shifted the reins between his fingers, feeling the wet fabric of Bilbo’s jacket slide along his arms as he did. ‘And sometimes we use ponies to travel from town to town.’

‘Did you ever visit Hobbiton?’

Thorin thought for a moment. ‘Balin and I passed through there once, I think, on our way to the Blue Mountains. That is many years ago now – when you were a dwarfli- sorry, a hobbit child,’ he corrected.

Bilbo chuckled. ‘I don’t think I would have minded being a dwarfling instead of a fauntling. Maybe I would have seen Erebor in its prime.’ His voice was warm. ‘The way you, Balin and Dwalin speak of it…it must have been a magnificent place.’

‘It was,’ Thorin said, ‘and will be again.’

They had reached a turn in the road near the river and the ground was particularly slippery here. Thorin pulled on the reins, slowing the pony down to a walk. It shook its head up and down, protesting at both being pulled at the mouth by Thorin and by the mane by Bilbo.

‘Careful!’ Thorin’s left arm shot across Bilbo’s middle as the pony’s shoulder muscles shifted and tensed suddenly underneath him, threatening to unseat him.

‘Oh, dear.’ Bilbo leaned reflexively back, his shoulders coming to rest against Thorin’s chest. ‘That was close.’ He shifted again. ‘Do you mind?’ He gestured at the space between their bodies.

‘Not--,’ Thorin cleared his throat, ‘not at all.’

Time seemed to slow down for Thorin, his unblinking gaze finally going down to the small body in front of him, seeing how that bottom squirmed and shifted backwards. He could just see a hint of the muscles tensing and releasing under the layer of chub before it finally pressed into the opening of his legs, Bilbo sighing with relief as he settled into that natural dip. The top of his hair just tickled Thorin’s chin and his body was warm against Thorin’s chest, seeming to heat up the front of his sodden tunic.

‘There,’ Bilbo said as he shifted even closer, ‘that’s better.’

Where to direct his gaze was no longer a problem, as the two of them were pressed so close together that he could barely catch a glimpse of Bilbo’s bottom. No, the tightness around his eyes had finally disappeared, travelling further down and settling just south of his belly. Because Thorin could _feel_ Bilbo, could feel him shifting with the rocking movements of the pony, could feel him relaxing for bit before tensing at an unforeseen tilt. And every time he seemed to press even closer to Thorin, rubbing that bottom against him in search of a safe and secure place to sit.

They went on like this for while. Bilbo, seemingly unaware of what he was doing, while Thorin was busy reciting all of the dwarven kings in his head, starting with Durin the Deathless, not stopping until he reached Thráin the Second, and then starting all over again.

The rain stopped somewhere in the middle of all this. The grey mist disappeared from all around them, and they could finally start to make out where they were.

‘We are nearby the Trollshaws,’ Gandalf called out to the others.

‘Trollshaws?’ Bilbo squirmed where he sat, prompting Thorin get right back to figuring out if he’d stopped at Durin the Fourth or Durin the Fifth. ‘Are there trolls close by?’

Thorin shifted the reins in his hands, his arms closely encircling Bilbo’s middle. ‘Calm yourself, Master Baggins. Any trolls left in that place will have long since been driven north by the rangers or,’ his mouth pursed grimly, ‘the elves of Rivendell. All that remains is the name.’

‘Oh.’ Thorin could feel Bilbo’s shoulder drop lower slightly. ‘I’ve never seen a troll.’

‘Would you like to?’ Thorin asked, looking down at those damp curls

‘Maybe if it was far away – with no chance of it ever seeing me. Then yes, I would like to. Have you ever seen one?’

Thorin shook his head. ‘No.’ 

‘I once heard from someone that a hobbit could fit into the palm of a troll’s hand. Imagine something of that size!’

‘I think you will see many strange sights on our quest, Master Baggins. No need to mourn an empty troll cave.’

‘You’re right.’ Bilbo perked up at that. He shifted closer once again, not seeing the way Thorin bit his lip before starting on an endless row of Durins.

 

X--X

 

Passing through the Trollshaws had been a disaster.

Only through the quick thinking of Bilbo and the timely return of Gandalf (who had vanished to who-knows-where in the meantime) was the company still hale and whole – a few scorch marks notwithstanding. 

Bilbo was the only one who needed some repairing – his clothes, from his red jacket to his thin, white shirt, were covered in troll’s snot. The next night after supper, the others agreed to help with his part of preparing the camp while he hurried away to a nearby stream, hoping to do something to dislodge the evidence of a gigantic sneeze.

After they had eaten the rest of their supper and unrolled their bedrolls, the company sat down around the fire, some of them smoking pipes, others humming snatches of old songs, while some were silent, their thoughts either lingering with what they had left behind or turning towards what they hoped to gain with this quest.

Thorin thought of Bilbo, of course, of how brave he had been, standing up to those trolls the very first time he had ever seen _one_ , let alone three trolls. He had been the quickest of all of them, knowing that he needed to stall for time. Did he know about trolls and their reaction to the sun? Was this another thing he had read or heard about? Bilbo did seem to know a lot of things…

A kernel had already started to grow in Thorin’s mind that maybe this Bilbo Baggins wouldn’t be such a burden after all, that he would be more than helpful to the quest. He had already saved their lives, after all, Thorin thought with a glimmer of a smile.

Some of the older ones, Balin, Óin and Glóin, had disappeared into their bedrolls when Thorin stood up and looked around the clearing.

‘How long has Bilbo been gone?’

‘Since just after supper,’ Fíli answered. He was getting ready to take the first watch while the others slept.

Thorin picked up the sword he had found in the troll caves. ‘Wait here.’

The path to the stream was narrow, heavy trees lowering over it. Thorin had to push his way through, only the sounds of a gurgling stream to guide him. As the sound grew louder, he passed by the red jacket hanging to dry on a wide branch, and looking back, he should really have taken that as a warning of what was to come.

The path widened shortly after, and he saw the small stream. The full moon was hanging above it in a clear sky, its light reflecting off the surface of the pool and the smooth stone walls around it. And in the middle of it was Bilbo, crouching down at the edge of the stream, furiously rubbing at his wet trousers with a flat rock. Only, he wasn’t wearing the trousers while doing this - he wasn’t wearing anything at all, in fact.

Thorin’s breath halted in his throat, his gaze fastened on Bilbo, noticing how that bare skin turned to silver under the clear moon. His tied-up throat expanded quickly again and the whoosh of breath leaving his lungs turned into a cough, louder than the sounds of the stream.

Bilbo stilled where he crouched, raising his head slowly. Thorin could see his head turning, scanning the other shore of the stream while his right arm crept out, fumbling for the small sword that Gandalf had given him.

_Good_ , Thorin thought, he is already learning more about the world than what is found in his books. He walked forward then, deciding to spare Bilbo the fearful anticipation.

‘Peace,’ he called out, ducking out from under a branch. ‘It is only me.’

Bilbo dropped the sword immediately. ‘Thorin,’ he breathed, his shoulders hunching over with relief, ‘I thought another troll had come to finish its companions’ work.’ He stood up and turned around, holding the wet trousers over his crotch as he looked at Thorin.

‘Are you saying that I make as much noise as a blundering troll?’ It was never a habit with Thorin to use humorous remarks around others, but there was something about Bilbo’s presence that compelled him, that made him want to show of his wit as well as his honour.

Bilbo smiled as his eyebrows quirked in surprise. ‘No, only as much as a very stealthy troll.’ His hands wrung at the fabric of his trousers. ‘Did you come to bathe as well?’

‘I came to see how you were doing.’ Thorin shifted, still very much aware that he was facing a naked Bilbo and that That Bottom was only a half-turn away. ‘The others have started to turn in.’

‘Oh!’ He looked down at the trousers. ‘Well, I suppose this is as good as it’s going to get. Can you check to see if my jacket is dry by now? While I finish wringing these out?’

Thorin was glad for any purpose that would lead him to turn away from the very tempting sight of Bilbo’s body in the moonlight and he hurried back to the jacket, feeling it for damp spots.

‘It’s almost dry,’ he called back over his shoulder. 

‘Good. Could you hand it to me?’

Thorin untangled the jacket from the branch and stepped backwards, his face towards the small path as he handed the jacket back to Bilbo.

‘Thank you,’ Bilbo murmured. ‘Now…are you ready to go back to camp?’ He went past Thorin, a flash of red at the corner of his eye, before walking in front of him down the path.

Thorin gulped. Now, this was very unfair indeed. The wet trousers and the damp shirt still hung over Bilbo’s lower arm, his suspenders dangling after the bundle as he walked. All he was wearing was the red jacket, that flap in the back opening and closing at his quick walk, allowing Thorin flirty glimpses of that full bottom wiggling in front of him.

Bilbo stopped in the path and looked back at him. ‘Are you coming?’

‘Don’t—’ Thorin’s throat felt very dry. ‘Don’t you think you should put on some more clothes?’

Bilbo’s head tilted quizzically to the side. ‘They’re still too cold and wet; I thought I might dry them out by the fire. And anyway, you said the others had gone to sleep.’ He lifted his arms slightly, gesturing at either side of the path, gaping his jacket even more. ‘There’s nobody here but me and you,’ he finished, his voice warm and with a slight husk to it.

‘W-what are you saying?’

Bilbo turned around completely, his buttoned jacket just covering his crotch, though Thorin couldn’t help but notice the traces of wiry hairs on his upper thighs, so different from any other hair on his body.

‘I’m saying that I’ve seen you _look_. That evening when I found the mushrooms? Was that the first time you noticed me?’

Thorin’s cheeks were burning mighty hard and his mouth worked senselessly, trying to find any sort of sound that made sense right about now. ‘I-I…w-w-what--’

‘Oh, I don’t mind!’ Bilbo was quick to add. ‘I’ve noticed you as well. What did you think that little performance on the pony was all about? I practically did everything but ride you instead of the pony! But you never let on that you understood what I wanted.’ His voice turned quieter. ‘Or was I the one who didn’t understand you?’

‘No!’ Thorin blurted out, ‘no, not at all! No, y-you’re right. I _have_ noticed you, Bilbo, _all_ of you. You’re – you’re perfectly brave and clever and lovely. _Very_ lovely.’

Even in the soft moonlight, Thorin could see the blush tinting Bilbo’s cheeks. His smile grew warmer. ‘Good.’ He turned his back to Thorin, raising his arms in an exaggerated stretch above his head, the jacket lifting up with them, exposing that beautiful bottom to Thorin’s eyes. He glanced over his shoulder, fully appreciating Thorin’s reaction to this sight. ‘We’d better get some sleep,’ Bilbo murmured. ‘My pony needs another rest day, I think, so we’re both in for a long ride tomorrow.’ He shot a heated look at Thorin. ‘If you’re willing to share with me again?’

‘More than willing,’ Thorin whispered, and he followed that red jacket down the path, not knowing if he would get even one wink of sleep that night.

**Author's Note:**

> [My tumblr](http://hildyj.tumblr.com/)


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